


The Truth About Wilson aka Quite Exploded

by localfreak



Category: House M.D., My Best Friend is a Vampire | I Was a Teenage Vampire (1987)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-13
Updated: 2008-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossed over with My Best Friend's A Vampire. Jeremy Capello managed to get on with his life and became a successful Doctor. Renamed James Wilson he has carved himself a comfortable niche at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. But after email from the past and a teenager in the clinic admitted under House's care, it seems like it's only a matter of time before Wilson is found out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To the anonymous [ Fandom!Secrets](http://community.livejournal.com/fandomsecrets/) poster who posted the screencap which introduced me to [ My Best Friend Is A Vampire](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095684/), to [IMDB](http://www.imdb.com) for spelling help, to my friend [lycoris](http://lycoris.livejournal.com) for encouraging this insanity (and, believe me, this is the tip of the iceberg of the Vampire!Wilson theories) and also helping me with character-reactions and such. Thanks also to [ wikipedia](http://www.wikipedia.org) and my mother for helping me come up with medical sounding jargon and possible (if bizarre) diseases, and for [ google](http://www.google.co.uk) and my mum’s medical dictionary for correcting my spelling. Further mention must be made for Oscar Wilde's 'The Importance of Being Earnest', from whence the secondary title 'Quite Exploded' comes from ( _"Why he was quite exploded...I mean that he was found out."_ ) **Extra-special thanks** , too, to [benjimmy](http://benjimmy.livejournal.com/) for his marvellous Americanism-advising and beta reading, that said, I take responsibility for any mistakes you may encounter.
> 
> Additional notes: It has come to my attention some of my fic has been uploaded to a website I do not trust. I would like to make it abundantly clear I do not give permission for my work to be shared on any other website (linking to my fic's URL is fine), or uploaded anywhere without my knowledge and expressed permission. Quite frankly, if I want to upload it somewhere I'll do it myself.

He hadn’t always been an early riser; there had been a time, in his teens, when he had known the indolent luxury of lying in sun-warmed sheets until his natural instinct to rise and use the bathroom could stand it no longer. He rarely thought of this, now. After all, he had a full-time job, and there are many more interesting things to be done than lounging around in bed all day. Compared to many, his morning routine took longer, too, which gave him all the more impetus to rise a few moments before his alarm rang.

This particular morning, Wilson awoke a full half-hour before his alarm- indeed, a full quarter of an hour before sunrise itself. He lay for a moment, feeling the odd unease in his gut. Ah, yes. Today was different than other days.

He climbed out of bed, checking to ensure the thick hotel curtains were still tightly drawn, and shuffled towards the bathroom to begin his morning’s routine. As he stood under the shower his thoughts turned to the day that lay ahead of him. Go to work…be harassed by House, (he had a patient meeting with Mrs Sanderson first: cervical cancer), and then…he couldn’t remember the next name but it was breast cancer he was sure, then a brief break in which to write up the meetings for his files before lunch. He grimaced a little: he was meeting _her_ for lunch.

He had received word of her a week prior; she sent an email to his hospital address (and how she’d managed to get hold of that heaven alone knew). Short and simple; he hadn’t even known she knew how to use a computer. Why would she bother?

 _My dear Jeremy,  
I will be visiting Princeton on the 28th and would be delighted to meet with you and catch up on all your news. I will meet you for lunch at that charming café- Helby’s? Shall we say 12 o clock? It will be interesting to see you again.  
Your very fond,  
Nora._

He was at once irritated at her presumption and wholeheartedly relieved that he’d got to the email before House discovered it. ‘My dear Jeremy’ indeed! She had very nearly jeopardized his whole life- did she never think-? But then, he sighed as he rubbed in the sun-protection moisturiser, even after all these years she baffled him entirely. Perhaps she simply did not think her actions had consequences- or, more likely, she knew they did and did not care a whit.

Wilson shaved and dried his hair before picking up the clothes he’d laid out the night before. He gathered his things for the day before returning to the mirror. A few seconds later an image appeared: the ‘Wilson’ he had cultivated to the image seen by others, a little blurred around the edges but nothing serious, and he felt sure any minor difficulties would be fixed after he had eaten breakfast. That was the only problem with living in a hotel: having to constantly put his illusions up before being able to get his meals. He moved to the mini-‘fridge he’d placed in one corner and pulled out a small bottle labelled “medicine- keep chilled”. The slick warmth of the pig’s blood suffused him with energy and he smiled at the pleasure of it. Deciding he would eat in the dining room below this morning, he gathered all he would need for the day: papers, briefcase, car keys, a thermos flask of ‘medicine’ in case of emergencies, etc. and headed out.

 

At first, Wilson had planned to tell House in advance that he would not be available at lunch, but, when he thought it out, every potential excuse (meeting with ex-wife, board of directors, oncology lecture, etc.) all had flaws. House had a knack for seeing through such lies and, without substantial evidence to back them up, any of these excuses would fall flat. Thus Wilson decided that his best bet was to play it by ear and use the best excuse possible at the time: a sudden page on the way to lunch, a dying patient, a call from his mother etc). He was good at this: reacting, covering his tracks; well, he had to be. Whilst Wilson felt confident he could pull it off (he had been doing this for nigh on twenty five years, after all) the lack of solid planning made him feel, all the more acutely, the nervousness uncurling in his gut. Or perhaps that was just Nora, who always had that effect on him.

He worked chiefly on autopilot that morning, haven taken care to avoid booking any meetings that required extreme concentration. Much of his time was spent watching the clock, (or, at least, that’s how it felt to him); by two hours before he was due to meet her, his stomach was in knots and the waiting only got harder as the time crept nearer. Luck, however, seemed to be on his side: as he passed House’s office on his way out, Wilson saw House scribbling on his whiteboard, surrounded by his fellows. Wilson smiled to himself as he left the building, feeling a certain lightness in his step. Fortune was upon him. House was occupied with a puzzle and, with luck, would barely notice his absence (provided Wilson brought him a Reuben-shaped peace offering). In an hour’s time, Nora would no doubt be on her way and Wilson could get back to his life without any problems whatsoever.

 

As soon as Wilson had taken a seat at the café he saw a flicker of movement through the large, glass windows and Nora made her entrance. Like most vampires, Nora knew how to move with the times and her apparel was carefully cultivated to, at once, blend in and draw the eye. This paradox, intrinsic to the fashion world, was one Nora understood perfectly. The power-dressing business suits, with Cruella De Vil-type shoulder pads had long been left behind, but somehow, Wilson often thought of her whenever he saw a woman dressed in that style. Perhaps it was a connection that would never, entirely, leave him.

“Hello _Jeremy_.” Nora purred his name as she took the seat opposite him. He tried to ignore the confused feelings those simple words produced.

“Hello, Nora,” he said with an affected, casual tone, “How have you been?”

She chucked and granted him a wide smile, as if he’d told a joke. “Oh, you know…the same old, same old.”

The waiter came and took their order, stumbling over himself in the face of Nora’s considerable charms. Wilson couldn’t help but laugh, even as he admonished her.

“Nora! Turn it off!”

“Turn…what off, Jeremy?” Her smile, still as broad as ever, now held a spark of danger and he remembered, belatedly, that Nora didn’t take kindly to being given orders.

“Oh…just…. never mind,” he finished, with a hint of exasperation.

She leaned towards him conspiratorially, “And just think what fights are going on in the kitchens over who gets to serve us?”

Wilson couldn’t help but laugh, even as he ruefully admitted it was probably true. He paused a moment before commenting, “And you couldn’t have picked a place with less window space?”  
“Why is that? Worried about your reflection?”  
“Not particularly,” this was true, in the crowded room nobody would particularly notice if the illusion, which created his reflection, was not turned on. “It’s just a little close to my work for my liking.”

“Worried somebody will see you with me, my dear Jeremy? A girlfriend?”

“That’s not the point. I’m taking a whole lot of risks-“

“Lighten up, Jeremy,” she smiled, smug as a cat in cream, but paused to flirt with the waiter as he brought them their meal. “What’s wrong with two old friends meeting for dinner after all?”

“When one of them is you, I can only worry.” Wilson retorted, “And stop calling me Jeremy, so much, if you please. It’s James now.”

“Ah yes. I heard about that, of course. Seems silly that you should give up your name, _and_ your looks. Such a waste.”

“It’s the price I pay for fitting in.”

She smiled into her pasta, spearing a little on her fork. “Fitting in. I thought you’d grown out of these silly childish fancies.”

“I might have, if something hadn’t severely hampered the aging process for me.”

She chucked at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back and hid it behind a mouthful of potato.

“Ah, but I keep you young and ever-fresh. You will thank me for that, in years to come.”

If it were anyone but Nora he was facing, Wilson would have been irritated by this remark to the extreme, but Nora’s presence was so beguiling, so muddling, that he could not muster up anger, and thus remained silent for some moments.

Nora continued, “Of course, I hear you’re a doctor now, Jeremy. Does that bring you pleasure?”

He smiled, comfortably. “Head of Oncology and, yeah, I’m very happy with my job.”

“I imagine it has its appeal, working in a hospital. Lots of fresh blood around.”

“I don’t do that, Nora. You know that.”  
She wrinkled her nose, prettily, “Oh…but surely the temptation is there?”

“There’s a reason I didn’t go into haematology.”

She laughed, “I see! I see! No, oncology is a more fitting field, is it not? All those dying patients- what harm then, could it be, to help them on their way.”

Wilson put his fork down, “Nora! I don’t- I would NEVER do that. That’s…it’s monstrous! There’s no need for us to drink human blood and I’d never do that to a person.”

She put a hand on his arm, placating him, his anger fading even as his will fought with her charms, “Come now, Jeremy, let’s not fight.”

He sighed, picking up his fork again. “Fine. But I don’t do that; it would be a terrible abuse of power.”

She smiled endearingly at him, “ There might be no need for it, but the pleasure it brings….”

They were reaching the end of their meal, and he couldn’t help be glad of it. Nora confused him. Offended him and yet….he couldn’t help but enjoy her company.

“Why are you here Nora?”

“Me?” she winked at him, “I was just passing through.”

He didn’t believe it for a second.

 

 _He was in the school orchestra practice watching Darla Blake, but then she picked up a hockey stick and he stood in the stands and cheered as she scored the winning goal. The game ended. He ran out to meet her but her hair was long and dark and suddenly terribly familiar as she kissed him. This…wasn’t right…_

Wilson woke with a start to the sound of a dog howling somewhere. He rubbed a palm over his face and gazed, worriedly, in the direction of the window.

“Nora…”


	2. Chapter 2

“Seventeen year old male, brought in with photophobia, lethargy and he hasn’t eaten in three days.”

“Why are you bringing this tripe to me?”

Cameron scowled, briefly. “Cuddy says you have to take the case. There was some incident in the clinic and-“

“How could there have been an incident in the clinic? I wasn’t there!”

“Cuddy says…”

House growled. A clinic case! It was practically an insult!

“Hangover.”

“What?”

“The kid. Hangover.”

“For three days?”

“He’s seventeen, he’s probably exaggerating to try and get off school for a few days.”

“Perhaps, if it wasn’t for the fact that he says he’s not sick.”

House stared at her, “So why are you bothering me with this at all? Send him home.”

“His mother insists that something’s wrong, the reaction to light in his eyes indicates the photophobia is worse than he’s letting on, and then there’s the fact he had a fit after slipping on a puddle of blood…. haemophiliac with a nosebleed or something.”

“And Cuddy doesn’t want to get sued, so we have to subject the kid to a pile of pointless tests to make his mother happy.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. House rose from his desk and limped his way to the conference table.

“Ok, whiny teenager with overprotective mom and photophobia. Go.”

“Hangover?” suggested Chase.

House rolled his eyes and gave Cameron a Look. Cameron, who knew he was only taking it out on her because Cuddy wasn’t in the room, folded her arms and stared back at him.

“Drugs.” she suggested, “It’d explain why he insists he’s fine; he doesn’t want his Mom to know.”

“Why? Because he’s a teenager it has to be drugs?” House raised an eyebrow at Chase’s remark; obviously trouble in paradise there.

“It’s still a possibility.” Foreman noted.

“Okay, but let’s assume that it isn’t drugs for the moment-“ House began.

Foreman interrupted, “How do you know it isn’t-“

“I didn’t say that,” snapped House, “I said, let’s assume it’s not drugs.” He limped over to the whiteboard and wrote “Alcohol” followed by “Drugs” in large letters. “What else could it be?”

There was a silence. House gestured with his marker, “Well?”

“It’s too broad, House. It could be any number of things. I think drugs is still the most likely,” commented Foreman.  
“Drugs is already on the board. I want to know what else it could be.”

House’s team sighed and exchanged mutinous glances before Chase spoke up, “Phlebotomus fevers cause photophobia and generalised weakness.”

“And fever, which he doesn’t have. If anything his temp is low.”

“He’s never been to Africa or Russia, either,” added Cameron. House looked between her and Chase, with some interest.

“Or so he says,” House couldn’t resist saying.

Cameron turned on him, “He’s been in _school_!”

“By that thinking you should include Chikungunya virus- explains the nausea and the photophobia,” added Foreman.

“Except he isn’t vomiting, nor does he have a rash,” countered House.

There was a pause as tempers were reigned in.

“Murray Valley Encephalitis,” suggested Chase, “We’re all assuming he’s nauseous and that’s why he’s not eating. If he’s in early stage Murray Valley then the vomiting hasn’t kicked in, instead he’s lethargic, anorexic-“

“And the photophobia?”

“Brain dysfunction, photophobia- it fits.” Foreman said.

“You really think Chase is right?” asked House.

“Could be another form of encephalitis- Equine? St Louis?”

“Yep. Or a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage.” House capped his marker, “Either way, get an MRI, Chase find out a better history- see if he’s been hanging around any horses lately- and Cameron, run a tox screen.” Housed glanced up to see Wilson arrive and lean against the door, waiting. “Ah, lunch.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t drugs?” she asked, as they stood.

“No, but the other possibilities are more interesting.”

They all turned to stare at him.

House stared back; “Go!” and they went.

House had barely moved when Wilson showed up, leaning against the door.

“Got a patient?” asked Wilson.

“No, I just thought I’d get ‘em outta my hair for a while.”

Wilson gazed at the symptoms on the whiteboard:  
17 Year Old Male  
-not eaten for days (anorexia? nausea?)  
I. photophobia (nausea?)  
II. headaches  
III. lethargy

DRUGS   
ENCEPHALITIS  
BRAIN BLEED

“Wilson?” House jolted him out of his musing,   
“What-? Oh, right.”

It was sheer force of will alone that stopped Wilson from gazing back at the whiteboard as House preceded him out of the room. Wilson thought he managed rather well to disguise his agitation from House, as they swapped the latest hospital gossip over lunch. Inwardly he was a mess. He should have known what Nora was up to, should have guessed; should have stopped her. After nights of troubled dreams he had known when she made her move. The next evening he’d been compelled to go and pay his respects, howling at some kid’s window like a common mutt. It was not a feeling he cherished. He tried to console himself, how could he have stopped Nora? No one could stop her. And, now the deed had been done, Modoc or someone would soon arrive to take the boy under their wing and guide him. Seeing that list of symptoms on House’s whiteboard had made him nervous, but, he felt sure, it was an irrational fear- House only took on unusual cases and, whilst turning into a vampire was, arguably, unusual, Wilson didn’t remember the symptoms being particularly severe enough to warrant so much as an Tylenol, let alone a trip to the hospital. When a lull came in the conversation he took a chance, House hadn’t appeared to notice anything unusual going on so far.

“What’s your patient’s name again?”

“Why do you care? He doesn’t have cancer; he’s not even dying.”

“I just wondered.”

Wilson wanted to probe more, to ask for details about the symptoms, to ask…. anything, but he’d taken enough chances already, he decided, and dropped the subject.

Wilson’s behaviour had not gone unnoticed. House considered him a moment and continued, “There’s hardly anything wrong with him at all, all he did was slip in the clinic and his Mom thought he was having a fit. Cuddy made me take him to stop the Mom suing her ass for not cleaning blood up quick enough.”

Wilson stilled for a second, but then took a sip of his drink and replied, “I suppose you’ll be sending him home soon then?”

“No doubt, just had to run a pile of useless tests first- we might as well make it seem like we’re doing something spectacular.”

Wilson nodded, absently.

 

 

As soon as they finished lunch, Wilson locked himself in his office and spent half the afternoon going through his contact book. If he was right, then he was in deep trouble.

House’s patient, meanwhile, was getting interesting.

“Tox screen was clean.”

“CS showed no obvious abnormalities and the MRI is booked for tomorrow.” Foreman reported, “But if it is encephalitis something would have show up on the cat scan.”

“And the last time the patient had contact with horses was on a school trip when he was twelve.” Chase added.

“So, equine is highly unlikely and it might not be encephalitis at all,” House summarised, putting a line through ‘Drugs’ on the whiteboard and also ‘Equine’ which was written next to ‘Encephalitis’. “But we won’t know for sure until the MRI.”

He paused, thinking for a moment, “Start him on a nutrient tube and a saline drip if you haven’t already. Foreman, can’t you get the MRI booked sooner?”

Foreman shook his head, “Hey, I had to pull enough strings to get it booked for tomorrow. One of them broke last week and the whole place is backed up.”

House sighed explosively, “Fine. Meanwhile two of you go to the kid’s house and look for clues- mould, bacteria, drugs- you know the drill. Cameron, get him to retrace his movements the week before he got sick- see if any of his friends have been out of the country or whatever- let’s see if he opens up to a sympathetic woman more than to a pretty man.”

Chase rolled his eyes, but House thought he secretly enjoyed the ‘pretty’ cracks.

Later in the day, as ‘home time’ was fast approaching, and his brood sent off into the world, House slid into Wilson’s office via the balcony door. Wilson had his back to him and was on the phone.

“Why me? Why do I have to-“ Wilson glanced up and sent a brief smile House’s way before continuing, “Look he’s at the hospital and the- it’s not my department, I’m an oncologist. It’s obviously not cancer, there’s not a great deal I can do… of course they don’t but-“ Wilson paused and gestured for House to sit down. “The doctor on his case isn’t going to just stop without getting a diagnosis…or let him leave…yes…look…look, I have to go…Yes……yes I’ll keep you posted but you should really go to him in person, I’m sure he’d appreciate your support….ok bye.” Wilson hung up and sighed heavily before tuning to House. “Why do people think that just because I’m a doctor, and went to their son’s Bar Mitzvah, I should be in charge of all their medical needs?”

House remained unconvinced, there was something Wilson was keeping from him but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You love it,” he said, dismissively.

Whatever that phone call had really been about, Wilson was lying to him. Usually Wilson lied about women but if it were a new girlfriend on the phone their ‘code’ was far too advanced (and bizarre) for a new relationship. No, it had to be something bigger and House turned to puzzle over in his mind even as, on the surface, he acted as if nothing was different. Wilson was jumpy, but, a consummate actor; no one else would have noticed the unease in his body language. House had known him too long, and prided himself on his Wilson-speak.

Firstly, Wilson had hesitated whilst getting ready to leave, but then appeared to shake it off and asked, instead, what was on their TV agenda for the evening. House replied with an airy remark about trucks and lesbian porn- preferably combined- and took note of Wilson’s odd, reluctant gait as they headed to the elevator. The doors opened and they stepped in, companionably shoulder-to-shoulder.

“So, your patient is stable for a change?”

House cast Wilson a sidelong glance, “Yup.”

A beat. House continued, “CT clean, as is tox screen, which doesn’t make sense.”

“Hmm. Well I see how the idea of someone having a clean tox screen might not make sense to Some people.”

“Oh come on, Wilson, he’s a teenage boy- pull any teenage boy in off the street after a weekend and there should be something in his system!”

“I think you’re projecting there.”

“And I suppose if we’d tested you at that age we’d have found nothing, Mr Oh-So-Holy-Pure?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, but you’re being evasive.”

Conveniently, for Wilson, the elevator came to a halt and he took the opportunity to hurry off, “I’ll meet you at your place,” he told House as he did so.

“Still evading!” hollered House. Wilson simply shrugged and sauntered out. “Oh, you’re a tricksy bastard alright.” House muttered, smirking.

Wilson spent an uncomfortable evening pretending to watch _Terminator 3 _with House, a film notably lacking in lesbians or trucks but with plenty of dreadful dialogue and lots of explosions, which made it acceptable viewing. Wilson just couldn’t focus on the screen; he had to fight the urge to fidget constantly, his mind occupied with more troublesome matters.__

Around midnight, House and Wilson both started at the sound coming from the street: a dog’s howl. Wilson flinched and shifted awkwardly as House grumbled about it not being a full moon. The noise continued. Eventually, House heaved himself up from the couch, using his cane as leverage, and went to the window. He blinked in mild surprise when, instead of some big-mouthed, overfed Labrador, he perceived a large wolf-like dog. Its tongue lolled and it appeared to be grinning at him out of the darkness. House banged on the glass, “Go home.” he told it. “We’ve eaten all the popcorn anyway.” As if in response, the dog turned and padded away.

“You know, Wilson, maybe it is a full moon after-“ House turned to find Wilson shrugging on his coat.

“I have to go, it’s late. Goodnight House.” Wilson interrupted and was out of the door before House could pass comment.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson was early for work the next day, and sat in his office reviving himself over a cup of coffee. Running after Nora had achieved nothing whatsoever, and he was still left with her mess to deal with. He wondered how many times she’d done this, and how many times Modoc or someone had simply cleaned up after her with a shrug of, “It’s only her way.”

Nora was dangerous, and nuts, and clever, and sexy. She was enamoured by her seductive skill, heady with the knowledge of it. He couldn’t help be both drawn to her (fascinating, exciting, rebellious, wanton) and afraid of her. She represented something Wilson was afraid of becoming. To her, humans were nothing but food and entertainment, to be teased by her charms at her whim; consequences had no particular meaning to her. Sometimes, in his worst moments, Wilson could imagine becoming like her; running free, no need for training tricks to hide his too-young face, no need to worry about what others thought because soon he’d be on his way again, charming his way into whoever struck his fancy consequences be damned. It frightened him.

How did he explain this to the boy? He mulled over that problem for some time, trying to remember how Modoc had explained to him…but mostly he remembered thinking the guy was insane, even when he appeared in his bedroom and, alright, he’d been kinda out of his mind at the time, thinking he was going to jail but…

It hadn’t gone well. He needed to accept that this wouldn’t probably go well either; no matter how much he tried to plan ahead. Wilson glanced at his watch; he had a while before anyone else was likely to be in. Better to just bite the proverbial bullet and give it a go.

The patient in room 207 was sleeping when Wilson entered. It was strange to see one of House’s patients relatively unmolested by wires and tubes.

The boy, (Stephen McCauly, said his file) was skinny and gangling, with a mop of dark hair much longer than Wilson’s had been at that age. The bite mark on his neck had mostly healed, but Wilson’s eyes were drawn to it effortlessly, he rubbed at his own neck in remembrance. He flipped through the file, nervously noting comments on anaemia, lack of appetite, MRI scheduled in a couple of hour’s time. When Wilson looked up, the boy had woken and was watching him, tiredly.

“…Hi.”  
“Hi.”  
“You want something to drink?” Stephen shook his head; Wilson hadn’t expected the kid to say yes. “Look…Stephen-“ he began, “I need to talk to you.”  
“You doctors still think I’m a drug addict?”  
“What? No.” Wilson moved closer, sat on the visitor’s chair next to the bed. “Technically I’m not really assigned to your case at all. It’s just…well…the thing is…” he was stalling. Taking a deep breath he plunged on, “I understand what’s happening to you.”  
“So…what? You’re saying you know what’s wrong with my but my doctors don’t?”  
“In a sense. It’s…complicated.”  
“Look, I don’t even feel that sick-“  
“I know!” Wilson snapped at him. “Dammit, you shouldn’t have come here and then this wouldn’t be such a mess.”  
“It’s not my fault! My mom-“  
“What, so you couldn’t lie to her about this, or hide it from her, but you could sneak off to sleep with some older woman without having your Mom find out?”  
“What? How did you know-“  
“I know because you’d hardly be the first stupid kid to have been seduced by Nora.”  
Stephen slumped back on the pillows looking lost and disturbed.  
“You can’t tell my Mom! Seriously! She’d kill me!”  
“I’m not going to. But, in return, you have to listen to me. You see…Nora…well, she infected you with something, that’s what’s making you feel weird.”  
“Oh God-“ the boy blurted, “We…I didn’t-“ The word ‘AIDS’ hovered between the silences.   
“Not HIV.” Wilson hurried to tell him. “You’re- well... it’s changed you. You’re…Stephen, you’re a vampire.”  
There was a brief silence.  
“WHAT? Pull the other one; it’s got bells on it! What kind of sick joke is this?”  
Wilson put on his most soothing voice, “Calm down, it’s not a joke but it’s really not all that bad.”  
“Vampires aren’t real!”  
Wilson couldn’t think of an adequate response to that (other than the obvious: “Um, yes, we are.”)  
“You’re insane!” Stephen reached for the call button. Swiftly, Wilson put a hand to his head and Stephen’s eyes widened, as his hand froze mid-reach, before settling back by his side as it had been.  
“O-o-kay…How are you don’t that? What the hell is going on?”  
“I’ve told you-“

“Dr Wilson?” Stephen was still staring, open mouthed at him. Wilson hurriedly composted himself, “Oh, Morning Foreman, I thought the MRI wasn’t till eight?”  
“It wasn’t but there was a reshuffle.”  
“Right, well, I’ll leave you in Dr Foreman’s capable hands, Stephen; and try not to worry okay? I’m around if you need to talk later.” And with that, Wilson breezed out, wondering if the feeling he got at leaving people gaping in his wake was the same feeling that House got daily. If so, he could kind of see the appeal.

 

“MRI was clean,” Foreman stated as he walked into the conference room.

“Nothing strange at all?”

“Nope. Well, not unless you count Wilson sitting in with the patient this morning…you think House put him up to it?”

“Why? He think the kid would confess to something we’d missed if he thinks he’s got cancer?” asked Chase, curiously.

“Yours is not to reason why, yours is just to do and die.” House chose this moment to announce his presence and limped through the door. “So, what have we got on this guy?” he continued, heading to the whiteboard.

“It’s not encephalitis. Nor any of the other ideas; tox screen was clean, MRI was clean.” Foreman reiterated.

“Okay, but I said what have we got, not what haven’t we got?”

“Could be Munchausen’s? It’d explain why nothing is showing up,” asked Cameron suddenly.

“Maybe but it wouldn’t explain why the kid keeps protesting that he doesn’t want to be here, kept insisting he was fine when he was in the clinic.” Foreman told her.

“Munchausen’s patients are skilled manipulators; it’s more convincing that something is wrong when a person keeps insisting they’re okay,” she retorted.

”Yeah, but this is a seventeen year old kid,” broke in Chase. “They aren’t that bright.”   
“It’s not Munchausen’s.” House told them, stopping the bickering.

“How do you know that? It could be.”

“You’re clutching at straws.”

“Anyway,” added Chase, “Wilson would have noticed when he spoke to the patient this morning.”

House raised an eyebrow, but quickly hid his confusion.

 

House burst into Wilson’s office, “What, not enough people puke on your shoes this week, you decided to poach my patient too?”

“What?” Wilson put down his pen. Outwardly he looked calm, but House could see the tension bubbling below the surface, ‘Gotchya!’

“I just noticed he was awake and thought I’d check he was ok, why? What did he say?”

Hmm, interesting. “Why do you think he’d say anything?”  
“I don’t know, I just assumed there had to be some reason for you accusing me of poaching patients.”

Wilson looked innocent, ergo, he was definitely guilty; House, however, knew how far to push and calmly directed the subject away to a light-hearted discussion on the merits of patient poaching, and why anyone would ever want to do that, anyway.

Later that afternoon, House had news for his team. “If the MRI is clean then why is the kid fainting, even when he’s lying down?”

“He’s still nauseated at the sight of food, we’ve loaded him up with an IV to get nutrients into him and changed the anti-nausea meds.” Cameron told him, promptly.

“That’s all well and good but the kid’s gonna get sicker until we find an answer.”

Wilson popped his head around the door, “Bad time?”

“No, no, just the patient’s worse and we still don’t know what’s wrong. Obviously somebody,” House glared at all three of them equally, hoping for a flicker of guilt; it didn’t come. “Re-do the blood tests, tox screen, everything. Wilson, I wish to hire your silver tongue.”

The trio gaped for a moment.

“Sorry, I’m rather attached to it, try a hooker.” Wilson recovered himself admirably.

“You were getting chummy with the patient this morning. Re-do his history.”

“Oh, so I’m poaching when I talk to your patient for five minutes, and now I’m downgraded to “getting chummy” because you want something. I have rounds.”

House gave him puppy-eyes. “So, you’d let our patient die just because Cameron’s lost her touch at getting him to confess all.”

“Hey!” Cameron protested, but was silenced with a Look.

Wilson sighed, “Fine. Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. Report back in an hour.”

Wilson made a rude gesture over his shoulder as he left.

 

Stephen looked up at the sound of the door sliding open.

“You again?”

“Stephen!” his mother admonished. She was a sturdy-looking woman, with neat brown hair, tightly tied back.

Wilson turned on his charm, “You must be Mrs McCauly; I’m Dr Wilson.”

“Oh!” she stood up, giggling nervously, “Pleased to m-meet you, Doctor.”

“If you’d like, I’ll sit with Stephen for a bit while you go and get yourself something to eat and drink.”

“Oh…would you?” she asked, breathlessly.

“It’s no problem,” Wilson gave her another broad smile, “Dr House asked me to check in on him anyway.”

Stephen gaped as his mother- unstoppable as a freight train- became malleable and easily persuaded by Wilson’s presence.

“Convinced yet?” Wilson smirked, as the door closed behind Stephen’s mother.

“No!” Stephen replied, too quickly. He took a deep breath, “I’m NOT a vampire!”

“Look, it works like this: you were stupid, you made a mistake, now you’re a vampire. That, in itself, is not a problem. However, you’re in a hospital, and they’re not going to let you leave until you get better and you’re not going to get better until you accept the fact that you’re a vampire. It’s not so bad. Oh, and here this came for you.”

He handed Stephen the book. “Vampirism, a practical guide to an alternative lifestyle?”

“Keep it with you, keep it hidden, study it- believe me it’ll save you from a lot of messes in the long run. Oh, and I’ve scribbled a little in the front, the first is my cell number, the second’s the address of a reliable all night butcher in your neighbourhood.”

“This is crazy. I’m not a vampire.” Wilson wondered if he had sounded quite so much of a broken record when Modoc came to him. He decided to ignore Stephen’s protestations.

“Pig’s blood is recommended. A good O negative is a nice start, although personally I find one grows into more select choices as one’s palette becomes more refined.”  
“You’re fucking insane! I’m not listening to this.”

“Fine.” Wilson didn’t move from place on the edge of the bed. “Look in the glass. Tell me what you see.”

“You have a reflection- see- you’re not a vampire.”

“Look again.”

“What? - Where did you? - Where am I-??“

Wilson gave Stephen a significant look.

Seeing that Stephen seemed disinclined to speak, he continued, “Drinking blood isn’t so bad, and, once you start ‘taking your vitamins’ so to speak, you’ll find you’ll be able to enjoy mortal food again, in moderation. Well, except garlic.”

“Get out! Seriously.”

Wilson sighed. Surely he hadn’t been quite this obtuse? How had Modoc not strangled him?

 

“House, you have clinic duty,” Cuddy had cornered him.

“Can’t- patient.”

“He isn’t dying.”

“Of course he is. He’s not immortal.”

“He isn’t dying in the next hour and you sitting in your office isn’t going to make a difference.”

 

Wilson knew he had to do something soon, the longer Stephen stayed in the hospital, the more dangerous the whole situation became. He settled behind his desk once again and set to work examining some scans that had been faxed from a colleague in Princeton General. He had been absorbed in his work for maybe an hour when House exploded into the room. His t-shirt was darkly stained and there was blood on his hands. Wilson stood up in surprise, making a conscious effort to keep his fangs retracted.

”Accident?”

“Clinic Duty. I couldn’t take it anymore and went on a killing spree armed with my spare scalpel.”

“Makes a change from beating them to death with your cane,” Wilson replied, relieved. “You going to change?”

“I dunno. I think the psycho-killer look suits me. Chase might even wet himself.”

“And that whole pesky hygiene thing?” prompted Wilson, dryly.

“Pssh! It’s a hospital. Everyone’s sick in here!”

House left a few minutes later and Wilson returned to his work. He was interrupted again, however, by a call from the oncology nurse’s station with a question about a patient’s file. He found the file in question and went to solve the problem in person. On his way back he ran into Chase. “Seen House?”

“Yeah, looks like he just came out of a bloodbath. He’s gone to scare the patient before he gets changed-“

“He’s gone to what?”

“Yeah, I know, but he seems to think he has a plan-“ Wilson barely heard Chase’s commentary on the Madness of House. He had to get to Stephen before House did.


	4. Chapter 4

Stephen had broken into a cold sweat, even as he told Dr House he was fine, just wanted to go home. Whatever reaction House had been expecting, this had not been it and he moved forward to examine Stephen more closely. The boy was clutching at the bedclothes convulsively, trickles of perspiration running down his pale neck, his breathing uneven and shallow; and while he thought of it, what was that mark-

House didn’t have time to complete that train of thought; Stephen had launched himself out of the bed. House’s cane fell to the floor and he followed it, yelling in surprise and pain. Wilson burst in and pulled Stephen off House with surprising ease. Then he pulled the blinds shut. House could only stare as Wilson pulled out a thermos flask from his lab-coat pocket and offered it to Stephen who, dazedly, began to drink with increasing gusto.

“I can’t believe it.” Stephen looked from House to Wilson, “You were telling the truth.”

”Yes, and you’re cured. The sooner we get you out of here the better.”

“What,” began House, his voice low and dangerous, “the hell was that?”

Wilson and Stephen turned to him as one. Offering House his cane Wilson gave him a broad smile. When did Wilson look that young, anyway? The dim light seemed to remove the lines from his face, the traces of grey from his hair. He looked like a kid himself, and his voice took on a strange, melodious tone House had never heard before. “Nothing happened House. You slipped when you came to tell Stephen you found out what was wrong with him. He’s cured. A rare vitamin deficiency, that was all. The puzzle is solved.”

House stared at Wilson for some time. Wilson stared back, unblinking, assessing.

“Gimmie my cane,” said House, reaching out to take it. He sat for a moment longer, trying to breathe through the pain in his leg, “And put some restraints on the kid.”

“House- “ Wilson sounded surprised; the patient obviously noticed it too.

“It didn’t work?” He sounded shocked. House’s ears pricked attentively.

Wilson looked flustered. “It seems not-“

“But how could it not work? What’s going on? I didn’t mean to-“

“Stephen-“  
Whatever Wilson was going to say was cut off as House hauled himself painfully to his feet and advanced on the pair.

”Wilson-“

“Look House I-“

“You’re different. You lied to me, Jimmy.”

“I never lied to you, House.” House had never seen that particular brand of fear and confusion on Wilson’s face before.

He pushed harder, “Oh but you did. You lie to everyone. You wear clothes that make you look like a kid in his Dad’s dressing up box, you make sure people notice the grey in your hair; you smile and appease them all so they never, ever get too close to you. I guess the illusion doesn’t hold up so well?”

“H-House.” Wilson’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as House loomed over him, invading his personal space.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop and the only sounds in the room were Wilson’s quickened breathing as House, finally, solved the puzzle of James Wilson.

“You” House poked Wilson in the chest, over the heart (would there be a beat there?), “Are a vampire.”

“Oh shit.” House’s dramatic moment was spoiled by the patient, who chose this moment to remind both Doctors of his presence; he gazed apologetically at Wilson, “I’m sorry Dr Wilson. You said this would happen if I didn’t believe you and- and you were right. Oh _shit. _I’ve really fucked it up.”__

“Stephen,” Wilson’s voice was soothing as the boy sat on the bed. Wilson cast a glance at House, who didn’t appear to be making any sudden movements towards the door, or his pager. “Stephen, it’s okay. House is my friend, he’s not going to tell.”

“How do you know I’m not?” House couldn’t resist.

Stephen stared at House, Wilson rolled his eyes, “He’s kidding; he won’t tell because he knows that I’ll lose my job. Let’s just concentrate on getting you out of here first, and I’ll visit once you’re home to help you sort stuff out.”

Wilson turned to House, “House, you can get Stephen signed out can’t you?”

House twirled his cane, thoughtfully. “I didn’t diagnose him. I can’t just put ‘vampire’ on his chart and let him go. And, I can’t say I’m feeling particularly generous to you after you tried your Jedi mind tricks on me.”

“Please.”

House looked at Wilson, and then at the patient. He had to admit the boy looked better, his face had lost the worst of that waxy pallor, although he still looked a little pale. His eyes were fully open in a way they hadn’t been when the photosensitivity had got worse and he seemed…. entirely cured. He didn’t even have the scratch he should have had from were the IV had ripped out of his skin when he flipped.

“What am I supposed to put on the chart?”

Wilson shrugged, “Vitamin deficiency. It’s kinda true.”

A few possibilities skirted the edge of his consciousness; he could make that work. The question was, did he want to?

“And then what?”

“What? Look, man, I’ll do whatever- just-“

Wilson cut in, “Answers. There’s no point in asking Stephen, he hardly knows anything yet, but I’ve been…a vampire since I was a teenager. You get to prod and poke all you like, provided you get Stephen out of here and don’t tell our secret.”

“I get to subject you to any tests I like? And questions I like?”

Wilson shifted, “Within reason, yes.”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to slip outta that one.”

“Okay.” Wilson suddenly sounded hurried, “You get to subject me to any medical tests you like and get answers to any questions you like relating to my…vampirism.”

House nodded. Wilson was no mug; he wasn’t going to give House tabula rasa to get answers to any questions about Wilson, regardless of how relevant they were to his condition.

“House, someone’s coming this way. Please. We got a deal?”

House assessed them both once more, before nodding, “Yes.” As the door opened and Foreman walked in, talking to Stephen’s mother.

House wheeled on her with a strange smile, “Good news!”


	5. Chapter 5

House and Wilson watched from the floor above as Stephen was wheeled out of the hospital doors chatting happily to his mother.

“You gonna keep in touch with him?”

“Of course. He’s my responsibility. I’ll give him tonight with his folks but tomorrow I’ll have to go check on him.”

Wilson looked curiously at House, as his friend remained silent, staring at the boy and his mother as the doors shut behind them.

“You okay?”

House clapped Wilson on the back, “Get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow, bloodsuckers to baby-sit, questions to answer.”

Wilson groaned. House walked away before turning back to look at him, “And my first one will be, when you were staying at my place what exactly did I drink out of the red bottle in the ‘fridge?”

Wilson looked back at him, “Believe me, House, there are some questions even you don’t want to know the answers to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Electric Six- I Invented the Night  
> Alkaline Trio- Crawl  
> HIM- My Sweet 666  
> Rachel Stamp- Permanent Damage  
> Guns and Roses- Sympathy for the Devil


End file.
